Randall Parrish

Keith of the Border Randall Parrish

The man was riding just below the summit of the ridge, occasionally uplifting his head soas to gaze across the crest, shading his eyes with one hand to thus better concentrate hisvision. Both horse and rider plainly exhibited signs of weariness, but every movement ofthe latter showed ceaseless vigilance, his glance roaming the barren ridges, a brownWinchester lying cocked across the saddle pommel, his left hand taut on the rein. Yet thehorse he bestrode scarcely required restraint, advancing slowly, with head hanging low, and only occasionally breaking into a brief trot under the impetus of the spur. The rider was a man approaching thirty, somewhat slender and long of limb, butpossessing broad, squared shoulders above a deep chest, sitting the saddle easily inplainsman fashion, yet with an erectness of carriage which suggested military training. Theface under the wide brim of the weather-worn slouch hat was clean-shaven, browned bysun and wind, and strongly marked, the chin slightly prominent, the mouth firm, the grayeyes full of character and daring. His dress was that of rough service, plain leather "chaps,"showing marks of hard usage, a gray woolen shirt turned low at the neck, with a kerchiefknotted loosely about the sinewy bronzed throat. At one hip dangled the holster of a "fortyfive," on the other hung a canvas-covered canteen. His was figure and face to be notedanywhere, a man from whom you would expect both thought and action, and one whoseemed to exactly fit into his wild environment